By Matthew Moorcroft

Highest Recommendation

• Directed by Maryam Touzani
• Starring Lubna Azabal, Saleh Bakri, Ayoub Missioui, Zakaria Atifi
• Not Rated

You can tell that Halim is closeted pretty early on. The explicit confirmation you do get after the fact is only really there to help confirm it to you, but eagle viewers will pick up on the small things almost immediately; the way he looks at his apprentice, the sad look in his eyes that almost never seems to leave, the soft brushes of his hands against fabric. The Blue Caftan is filled with these moments that linger, in fact it’s almost entirely lingering and longing, with the unspoken thing being the real story being told amidst the day-to-day minutia.

Director Maryam Touzani, who burst onto the scene with 2019’s Adam, is not telling a traditional queer story with The Blue Caftan, if that was even her goal. On paper, the story of a closeted man with his wife seems like ripe potential for dramatic underpinnings, but it’s clear early on that the “unspokeness” of the premise is known even by the characters, and particularly Halim’s wife Mina, who seems to know but ultimately turns a blind eye to it for whatever reason. What reason that is we never exactly find out. Nor do we need to.

The Blue Caftan, instead, is a gentle, quiet film about unconditional love. It’s unbelievably tender, and the understated performances from it’s lead actors aid a lot in this. Lubna Azabal is the clear standout for sure, but it’s only really when she is against the equally as fantastic Saleh Bakri that she is able to soar as high as she can. Despite the repressed sexuality core to Halim’s own internal struggles, you never once get the sense that Mina judges him for it. Instead, you see a couple navigating the troubled realities of their life and trying to work through it during a period of significant, and sometimes tragic, change. Touzani’s insistence on a lack of a “big reveal” is a smart one, giving time to just let moments sit and the closeups do most of the work.

And then when the film does slowly reveal the other half of that love – which the love that comes with the slow building of grief and mourning – it becomes achingly human in how it portrays such a thing. There is brief moment where Mina and Halim, alongside Halim’s apprentice Youssef, are all dancing and allowing themselves to have a moment of respite, and the freeness of it all gives way to their real selves. Mina’s playfulness, Halim’s devotion, and Youssef slow acceptance of the two. It’s the entire film squashed into a single moment, and like all great scenes, serves as an encapsulation of the human experience in one perfect, singular image.

The Blue Caftan is filled to the brim with these kinds of images, and even on it’s last devastating frame it remains locked in on the small moments and glances that are the key to it’s success as a picture. Death comes in many forms, after all, be for people, for a way of life, or even a profession. But it eventually comes for everything, and sometimes the only way you can process the grief is by letting it overtake you. By covering it up with something you find precious and clinging to that. There is no shame in hiding it.

It’s a little disheartening to know that The Blue Caftan went mostly unnoticed during last year’s International Feature race, but even a year later, now with a wider distribution, it remains a must watch. A maturely crafted, impossibly well done feature from a director who seems to only be getting better at her craft with time. A gorgeous ode to death and life.